


Rock the Boat

by Jamie_Douglas



Category: Chancer
Genre: Angst and Porn, Angst and Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:33:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamie_Douglas/pseuds/Jamie_Douglas
Summary: Instead of what happens to him in Series One of Chancer, Jamie goes a different route, turning to girlfriend Lucy instead of away. Still desperately depressed, angry, and suicidal, and hunted by the Foreign Legion he abandoned, young Jamie tries to think of the future. Can there be one for him? This story is set in 1990.





	1. A Goodbye Kiss

Lucy knocked on one side of the huge double doors at the entrance to the Douglas’s stately old home. She could see a light burning in one of the front windows so assumed someone must still be up, even at this late hour, but could hear no sound from within. She knocked again, more frantically this time. Finally, footsteps approached and the door swung open. 

“Oh, hello, um…?” Victoria Douglas looked questioningly at Lucy, apparently unashamed that she could not recall her brother’s girlfriend’s name. The brunette seemed to be thinking of something else. 

“It’s Lucy. Is Jamie at home?” The nineteen-year-old’s Scottish accent was thick but her voice betrayed her worry. 

“Um…no, I don’t think so…I haven’t seen him in a while, actually…” Victoria trailed off as she realized she hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to Jamie since he’d returned home. Seeing the fear in the girl’s wide brown eyes, she quickly added, “He might be down by the lake. He used to love sitting there, at night.” 

Lucy murmured her thanks and turned quickly away, hoping that Victoria couldn’t see the anger on her features. This family of snobs was so preoccupied by their own little dramas that they had no time for Jamie—Jamie who had been away for more than a year, God knows where, seeing horrible things, and nearly getting himself killed so far from home, all because he felt responsible for what had happened to his mother. Lucy had had no idea where he’d been until he’d shown up at her door a few days ago, but it was all too clear now. And instead of welcoming him with open arms and trying their best to restore the love that was missing from his heart, the Douglases merely ignored Jamie and went about their own private, petty business. 

She hurried to the lake, stumbling over a patch of uneven lawn. There was not enough light to see from a distance but as she got close to the water’s edge, she could make out a small rowboat floating just offshore and—perhaps—a figure inside. “Jamie!” she called. There was no reply. She edged closer to the water. The boat was drifting only a few feet from the bank. She could see his form now, clad in his favourite old faded denim jacket with the holes, sitting on the bottom of the boat, his back resting against the wooden seat. He was holding something in his right hand. 

“Jamie!!!” she shrieked, pulled her black skirt up to her hips, and waded into the icy water. “Jamie, don’t!!!” 

“Go away, Lucy!” He had the gun pointed at his chin now. The metal of the old service revolver glinted in the moonlight. He spoke quietly and calmly, but she could see pools of sadness in his eyes. 

She was only a foot from the boat now, knee-deep, reaching out her arm towards him. “Please, Jamie, don’t!” 

“You’re not supposed to be here. Go away. I don’t want you here.” His voice was toneless except for a slight quaver. 

Lucy ignored him, put her hand on the side of the boat, and started to climb in. He watched as the boat tipped down, dangerously close to the water. He didn’t care if it filled up and drowned him. “Help me up, you wanker!” she scolded him. 

Jamie shook his head. “You don’t want to see this, Lucy. Just go away like a good girl.”

“Don’t you ‘good girl’ me, ya bastard! Ah came here tae find you, and now I’ve found you, I’m not letting you go!” She swung a leg over the side and flung her body towards the boat but it started to drift farther away. In spite of himself, Jamie smiled at the sight of her clumsy attempt, and reached out his left hand. She grabbed his wrist and he pulled her up until she sat, breath heaving, in a pile on the boat’s damp wooden floor. The gun was still in his other hand, she noticed, and he wasn’t smiling anymore. “Put the gun down, Jamie.” 

“What for? No one would care if I was gone. Everyone would be better off without me.” 

She was close enough now to see the cool blue of his eyes and the tormented wrinkling of his forehead. “That’s bollocks. Your family would care. I would care. I love you, you silly sod.” 

“Love. Ha! What the bloody hell is that? My dad says he loves me and he hasn’t got a clue what the word means.” His voice was strained now, like he might start to cry at any minute. 

Lucy looked at the gun hanging loosely in his hand and wondered what would happen if she tried to grab it. Probably a bad idea. She thought of something else. She moved next to him, squeezing as well as she could beside him in the tight quarters of the craft, and touched a soft hand to his cheek. He had shaved recently and his face was like a baby’s except for a tiny amount of stubble. “I got your message tonight and I was worried. ‘You’re a good kid’? I mean, really, what the hell was that? Haven’t I been more than that to you?” She put her face in his and looked straight into his eyes until he had no choice but to return the look. He gazed intently at her, but said nothing, so she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips, then pulled away. He didn’t move, but his face seemed to have softened somehow. 

“Lucy, I…” 

“Sshhh…” She raised a finger to his lips and held it there for a few seconds before removing it. “Put the gun down and kiss me properly.” 

“All right. A goodbye kiss, and then you’ll have to go. Agreed?” 

Lucy nodded and draped her arms around his neck. Jamie set the gun down behind him, laid his hands on her small, cold back and kissed her, very gently. He started to remember the times they’d had together, going to punk rock concerts, making out in the car park, drinking too much. The time he’d held her hair back for her when she’d been sick. He pushed the tip of his tongue inside her mouth, tenderly, and she touched it with her own. Then she laid a hand on his thigh and he pushed her away abruptly. 

“You’ve had your kiss. Now piss off.”


	2. Not at All

Lucy crossed her arms in front of her. “No way. I’m no’ leavin’.” 

“Come on, Lucy. Don’t make me do it in front of you.” He had picked up the gun again.

“You won’t.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I know you, Jamie. You won’t want to traumatise me for life. You’re a good person.”

“No I’m not! Do you not realize what I’ve done? I’ve killed people, you know! You’re so innocent.” He couldn’t handle looking in her big, chestnut eyes anymore, so he looked down at the boat, studying the wide planks that time and the lake had worn smooth. 

“You were a soldier,” she said quietly. 

“No.” He shook his head vigorously, frowning. “No, that’s not all I mean. There was a boy…” His turquoise eyes filled with tears. “And my mother… I killed my mum!” he shouted, and now he was sobbing, half hiding his face with his arm, the one that held the gun. Lucy touched his shoulder but he jerked it away from her grasp. “You don’t know! I could have stopped it! I—I shouldn’t have gone for him like that. It’s all my fault! Do you understand? It’s my fault!” He said these last two words with so much force, spittle was flying from his lips. Angry, desperate tears were pouring down his cheeks. He tried to take a deep breath, strangling a sob within his throat. 

Lucy’s eyes were on the pistol still clutched in his hand. “It’s not your fault,” she whispered. 

“Yes, it fucking is!!” He pointed the gun at his temple, then under his chin again. 

Lucy heard the safety click off and she screamed, “NOOOO!!!!” She lunged for his hand and shoved it as hard as she could away from him. The gun landed in the water with a splash. She was crying too now, throwing her arms around him and begging, “Please, Jamie, please, stay with me. I don’t want to lose you. Please!” 

She was holding him so tightly, he finally let go of everything he’d been holding in, all the guilt and fear and self-doubt and hatred that had been eating at him for months. He put his arms around her and cried, his face buried in her neck, her soft hair tickling his ear. They held each other and cried for a long time, their bodies shaking. Then his wet lips pressed against her neck and he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

“Ssshh…ssshhh… It’s okay, baby… I’m here.” Her hand found his nearly shaved head and caressed it, the short bristles making him seem childlike, like a baby duckling who’d spent some time in the Foreign Legion. Although the image was amusing, she couldn’t laugh. She just held him as he cried.   
Gradually, he stopped, and the sobs turned to sniffles. She pulled away from him and reached up to his face, wiping away the remaining tears with her tiny fingers. 

“Do you really love me?” he asked in a small, private-school voice. His head was bowed but he looked up at her under long blond eyelashes. Lucy never could resist those puppy-dog eyes. 

“Yes, ya big lug, I do.” Then she tilted his chin up and kissed him. He returned her kiss lightly at first, then passionately. Their tongues intertwined, and their hands searched for each other. Hers were cold but when she ran them up under his sweater, he shivered not with cold but with excitement. It was something he hadn’t felt since before that awful day. She smoothed her fingertips over the lean muscles of his back and he responded in kind, groping her breasts under her shirt. “Oh, Jamie…” she panted, and her other hand moved to his denim trousers, fumbling with the button and zipper. 

Now his hands were under her skirt, tugging at her knickers. She slipped them off awkwardly and then tried to pull his denims down. They were so tight, he had to help, managing to get them down just below his hips. He took off his jacket and laid it on the floor of the boat. Lucy straddled his lap. If anyone had been watching, they would have seen two fully clothed people sitting together in the boat, facing each other, as Jamie leaned back against the seat, but underneath her black skirt, both their fingers were working. When he realized she was more than ready, Jamie took his hands away and looked at her with those serious eyes. Kneeling on his denim jacket, she sat up and took hold of his hard cock, guiding it home. She settled down onto it and they both gasped. 

As they made love, Jamie helping Lucy to move on top of him in a steadily building motion that rocked the boat, he felt the tears spring to his eyes again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this close to another human being. He’d had a hooker in France, but that had been cold and utilitarian. The experience had only served to prove his point that the magic had gone from everything. But this… this was different. This was real. This was sweet. Not dirty, not angry, not tarnished or disappointed, but pure and innocent. The salty water slid down his face and he tasted it on his lips as he thrust his hips toward her. When they came together, he hugged her to his chest, hearing her heart beating next to his own. 

He wiped the new tears away and helped her off. As she searched for her underwear in the dimly moonlit night, a new fear leaped into his mind. “Oh, God.” 

“What is it?” She turned back to him like a mother hen protecting her chick. 

“What if I just got you pregnant?” He bit his lower lip.

Lucy just smiled. “I wouldn’t mind that at all, Jamie Douglas. Not at all.”


	3. We're Not Done Here

The next morning, Jamie awoke on a park bench, his denim jacket bunched up under his head and a couple of leaves from the boat still sticking to his sweater. He was stiff and sore and tired, but he allowed himself a small smile when he remembered how Lucy’s eyes had glowed last night. He couldn’t figure out why she cared so much for him, but he also couldn’t deny that he enjoyed her attentions. And she had saved him. 

He sat up, stretched, and pulled his jacket on. If the gun hadn’t ended up on the bottom of the lake, would he have pulled the trigger? Yes, he thought he probably would have. Not with her there, maybe, but definitely after she’d gone. Only she didn’t go. He hadn’t decided if this was a good thing or not, still being alive. The idea of creating a life inside her, and of how happy she would be to have his child… I’d be a terrible father, he thought, shaking off the happy memory and frowning again. His face was somehow babyish and old at the same time, the creases in his young skin hinting at the trauma he’d suffered. 

He had seen Lucy home last night, accompanying her on the late bus, and had left her with a promise to call later today. She wanted to make plans. She told him he should clear things up with his father and sisters. The future would be better, she said. Jamie had his doubts. Instead of returning to the Douglas’ home, he’d crashed in the park near her house. Now he had to decide if he should go home or not. He really didn’t want to, and he didn’t care much for the few possessions he had there, but maybe he owed it to Lucy—or to someone, anyway—to make one last effort. He guessed his mother would want him to, so he loped off to the bus station.

It was nearly noon by the time he got back, slipping in the back door as quietly as possible. On his way up the stairs to his bedroom, however, the old wooden risers creaked and brought his father out from the kitchen. 

“Jamie, there you are!” 

Jamie froze, one foot on the stair above him. “Uh, hi Dad. Just getting something.”

“Oh, aren’t you staying for lunch? I was hoping to talk to you.” Robert’s voice had a forced air of lightness about it. His saucer eyes studied his fugitive son warily. “We’ve got meat pies.” 

Jamie sighed, turned around, and descended the stairs slowly. His stomach was growling and he couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten anything. He followed the white-haired man into the kitchen and sat at an ancient table while his father warmed up the pies. He fidgeted with his fingers, picking dirt from under the nails, and jiggled his knee up and down. 

Robert set a tall glass of cold milk in front of Jamie and the boy drank most of it in one long gulp. 

“Where have you been?”

“Just…around.”

“We haven’t seen much of you around here since you got back.”

“Did you want to?” Jamie couldn’t hide the cynical edge in his tone. 

Robert sat, bringing two full plates with him and setting them down. “Yes, I did. I do.” 

Neither man spoke for a full minute, then Robert continued. “Look, Jamie… I said we had a lot to discuss and maybe now is the time to discuss it.”

Jamie picked up a fork and attacked his pie, shovelling a large chunk into his mouth. Flakes of pastry floated down to the table top. 

Mr. Douglas cleared his throat. “All I really want to say is that I’m glad you’ve come home. I missed you and I—I love you.”

“So you’ve said.” Jamie eyed the pie as he continued to eat. 

“Well I said it because it happens to be true. Look, I’m trying to do the right thing, here, Jamie. You threw away the money I gave you, you ran off without telling anyone where you were going, you worried us all sick, and you--”

“I what? Go on, Dad, say it. Say it!” His voice cracked. “And I killed Mum! That’s what’s really eating you, isn’t it?” Jamie had finished half the pie. With two hands on the table, he shoved his chair back suddenly and got to his feet. The chair tipped over and hit the floor with a loud bang. 

“What are you—no! No, I wasn’t going to say that at all.”

“Bollocks! You were thinking it. You’ve been thinking it all along.” 

“No, Jamie. You’ve been thinking it, not me.” Robert stood and faced his son. “Is that what you think? Is that why you’ve stayed away all this time? You think that I blame you for your mother’s accident?” He tried to keep his voice soft, the louder and harsher Jamie’s got. 

“Yeah, of course you fucking do!” 

“No, I don’t. I really don’t. It wasn’t your fault, Jamie. It was an accident. No one blames you.” 

“Then why have you all been avoiding me? Not looking me in the eye?” Jamie pointed accusingly at his father’s chest. 

“I—I think we just…don’t know what to say. You haven’t shared your feelings with us. We don’t know what you’ve been through. We can only guess… And you’ve got such a temper on you, I think the girls are just afraid to upset you by asking too many questions.” 

Jamie snorted. “The girls! They are women now, Dad. If they can’t handle talking to their own brother, what sort of women are they? And how does that excuse you?”

“Me?? I’ve tried to speak with you, you ungrateful brat! I took a great risk getting you that money, and you appreciate nothing I do for you—even now!” 

Jamie walked to the doorway, nodding, his lips pursed in a thin line. 

“Wait, Jamie—where are you going? We’re not done here.”

“Oh yes, I think we are.” He took the stairs two at a time, slammed his bedroom door behind him, and quickly filled an army knapsack with some clothes, the book his mother had read him when he was a child, and the glass paperweight that Colin had given him. He ignored the knock and the words that came after it. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie. I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’ve been hurting, blaming yourself all this time…Please open the door, Jamie.” After five minutes, Robert gave up and went back downstairs. He thought that if he could find one of the boy’s sisters, maybe she could talk some sense into him. 

The second he was sure his dad was out of the house, Jamie trudged down the stairs with his bag. He dialed the phone in the study. “Lucy? I’ve got to get out of here. Are you coming with me?”


	4. The Safe Place

They were on a bus heading north. Jamie had his arm slung casually around Lucy’s shoulder; her small hand rested on his thigh. There were only four other people on the bus, all sitting at the front and wisely leaving the slightly rebellious-looking teenagers alone. An old woman in a flowered housedress and kerchief eyed the young couple suspiciously, assuming they were no more than sixteen. Off to Gretna Green to elope, no doubt, probably with a bun in the oven already. The girl looked sickly with her black hair and pale face and the boy looked angry, like he’d take a swing at anyone who questioned him. 

Jamie stared out the window as they crossed the border into Scotland. A small fold of Highland cows and bulls, with their long reddish-brown coats and wide horns, grazed in the distance. The bus came to a lurching stop at Gretna Green village. An elderly man got off and the nosy woman turned around in her seat, waiting for the youngsters to depart. When they did not and the door had closed again after letting a family of three on board, the woman raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The remainder of the ride was uneventful as well. After an hour and a half on the M74, they stopped in Glasgow, where all but one of the passengers got off and two more got on. Jamie watched each of these new people closely. Would his father have any idea where he’d gone? Would he try to look for him? Not likely. He would probably not even notice he was missing for a day or two. As they trundled out of the city again, the gothic medieval Glasgow Cathedral caught Lucy’s eye. “My Da took me there when I was a bairn,” she whispered. 

The bus continued up the A82 into the Highlands for two and a half hours, passing Loch Lomond and Glencoe on the way to Fort William. The scenery was so startling, Lucy forgot to be sullen. “Let’s go up Ben Nevis!” she said excitedly.

Jamie shook his head and made a condescending tsking sound with his tongue. “They’ll be looking for us, remember? We need to stay away from people, not visit all the local tourist spots.” 

They got off the bus for a bathroom break and a smoke and to buy a few items from the petrol station’s shop and then stayed in their seats for a further hour’s drive up the A830 until they reached their destination. The driver stopped the bus outside a small building with a sign that read “The Tea Room,” and Jamie and Lucy stepped off, hoisting their bags over their shoulders. 

“What’s this place called, again?” he asked. 

“Arisaig. It means “the safe place” in Gaelic.” 

Her great-uncle had once taken the family there, explaining that he’d been bequeathed a small croft house by his grandfather, who’d refused to leave his Highland home during the Clearances. Lucy remembered that the house was rented out in the summer months but since it was now fall, it should be empty. 

Jamie looked up and down the single street as the motor coach pulled away. “And where is this house of yours, then?” 

“We’ll have tae walk to it. There’s a dirt road, but since we havenae got a car,…” She shrugged, hoping her boyfriend wouldn’t decide to take his anger out on her. He’d never hit her before, but he’d certainly shouted. She much preferred him when he was in a happy mood. 

“You’re joking.” 

“No. Sorry. We could ask in there--” she gestured to the little tea room—“and see if we can get a ride from someone.” 

“There’ve got to be, what, twenty people in this whole village? Don’t you think they’d all know in about ten minutes and have told everyone in the bloody Highlands that we’re here, before we even got to the house?” He rolled his eyes at her and set off down the road. “Which way?”

Lucy wasn’t about to admit that she didn’t know exactly where the croft was. She remembered it overlooking the sea, however, so she figured that if they walked west, they’d find it eventually. The pebbled road turned into a grassy narrow path after a few minutes and they had walked for another forty, Jamie rushing ahead with a string of muttered obscenities, before Lucy called to him, “There! I think that’s it!” 

A small whitewashed stone cottage sat atop a rocky hill. No other buildings or signs of life were visible in the area, and it had been twenty minutes since they’d seen another house. Lucy hurried to catch up to Jamie, panting from the weight of her heavy bag. He took it from her shoulder (somewhat belatedly, she thought) and they walked together to the top of the hill. Jamie set the bags on the ground and stood on the highest boulder, surveying the scene in front of them. He saw a wide expanse of water with shapes of islands in the distance, the sun setting pinkish orange over top the whole. The wind was stronger here, blowing Lucy’s hair in front of her eyes. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” 

He couldn’t deny this but only nodded. Then he hopped down from his rock, picked up the bags again, and walked to the door of the cottage. “Got a hairpin?” 

“No.”

“How do you expect us to get in? I can smash a window, I suppose…” He walked around the side of the building, looking for a suitable target. 

“Come in,” he heard her say. Returning to the front door, he saw that it was now open and Lucy was standing inside the threshold, holding up an ancient key. 

“Where the hell--?” 

“It was under the mat,” she smiled. 

Jamie shifted his boots to reveal the message on the mat beneath them: “Failte.” Welcome, in Gaelic. The safe place? Welcome? A key under the mat? Maybe this was meant to be. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all. For the first time in hours, he smiled back. Then he walked into the house and shut the door behind them.


	5. The First Crack

After they’d unpacked their bags and sat down at the tiny wooden table with their meager meal of sandwiches and crisps, Jamie looked over at the empty fireplace with disdain. “No wood. It’s going to get awfully cold in here, I bet.” 

Lucy spoke through a mouthful of pasty bread. “They use peat here.” 

“What?”

“They don’t use wood. They use peat moss.” 

“Bloody uncivilised place.” He stuffed a handful of crisps in his mouth, got up, and searched the house, returning a minute later with a small axe. He pulled off his dirty jumper, revealing a short-sleeved white undershirt that had obviously shrunken in the wash. He found a large piece of cardboard box and spread it out on the floor. 

Lucy knew not to ask but when he picked up the unvarnished wooden chair he’d been sitting on, turned it on its side, set it on top of the cardboard in the middle of the floor, and raised the axe, she cried out, “Stop! What are you doing?! You cannae just chop up the man’s furniture!” 

“Watch me.” He brought the axe down with a thwack and repeated the action until the chair was in pieces. 

“Gonna land us both in gaol, you are!” She was concerned, but the sight of his smooth arms as he swung the axe, biceps flexing, had distracted her. His fingers were tight around the handle. 

“It’ll be fine. You worry too much. Don’t want you freezing tonight, do I?” He gathered up the pile of chair, arranged it in the stone fireplace, and pulled a box of matches from his pack. After three or four attempts, the wood caught fire and he sat back on his haunches to watch it burn. “Come sit.” 

Lucy joined him on the tattered woven rug in front of the fire. “Won’t the smoke be seen?” 

“That’s a risk we’ll have to take.” He turned to her and tucked some dark hairs behind her ear. “I’m glad you’re with me.” Then he kissed her. His lips tasted like a mixture of cigarettes and salt but she didn’t care. In fact, she was proud of how few fags he’d had during the trip up. She kissed him back, searching his mouth with her tongue, until his hands slid up under her shirt. “Can we take this off?” he murmured. She pulled the grey long-sleeved t-shirt off over her head, then reached behind herself and unclasped her bra. Jamie watched as she pulled it off, freeing her perfectly round breasts. He covered them with his hands and kissed her again, squeezing lightly. 

“Oh, Jamie!” Her hands moved to his jeans and quickly undid them. As her fingers sought his warm manhood, he pulled on her nipples, causing them to harden instantly. Impatiently, he stood up and pulled down his pants, reached a long arm over to the battered sofa, grabbed a small square cushion, and set it on the floor near the fire. As he pulled off his t-shirt, Lucy climbed out of her own pants and laid down on the floor with her head on the pillow. Jamie kneeled in front of her and she took in his taut abs, his lean, sinewy arms and legs, and the light covering of blond hairs that dusted his tanned skin. His erection grew as he looked at her naked white body until finally, she whimpered like a kitten needing to be fed, and he laid his long frame gently on top of her. The flickering glow from the flames bathed them both in a soft light. Lucy opened her legs for him but instead of entering her, Jamie slid down. She bent her knees up and he held onto her calves. The second his hot tongue touched her cunt, she began to pant and moan as though it had been months, not hours, since they’d last made love. She wanted to touch his close-shaven head but couldn’t reach it, so she contented herself with stroking the soft hairs of his strong forearms, instead. 

After a few minutes, he pushed a finger inside her and, discovering how ready she was, pulled his body back up on top of her. “Tell me you want me,” he said. 

“Oh Jesus I do, I want you so bad.” She squirmed in anticipation beneath him until he finally guided his hard cock inside her, slowly pushing until it could go no farther. She had only ever been with Jamie. She was seventeen the first time, and he was nineteen. She knew she wasn’t his first but she had no desire to ever be with anyone else. No other boy—no other man—could possibly make her feel like this. 

He fucked her slowly and steadily, giving her time to grind her body against his. He felt better tonight than he had in the boat, stronger and more confident. He wanted to show her that he wasn’t a crybaby. Not always. He sped up his pace, thrusting with more force now, as she brought her legs up even higher. She came quickly, perhaps overcome by the romance of having run away to a remote Highlands croft. All of her feelings, physical and emotional, swelled to the surface as she cried out. 

But Jamie was not finished with her yet. “Would you mind…?” he made a circle in the air with his finger. He could be such an odd mix of politeness and savagery: that was what she loved about him. One of the things. Lucy obeyed, turning over onto her stomach and tilting her hips into the air to give him a better angle for re-entry. He was fucking her from behind, gripping her ass cheeks with both hands, when the first crack of thunder struck.


	6. Closing the Gap

He paused in mid-thrust, but Lucy didn’t seem to notice or to care. A hard rain started battering the roof of the small cottage. The sudden storm was growing so loud and fearsome, he almost lost his erection. But not quite. As Lucy urged him on with little whispers of “Yes!”, he came, finally resting on top of her and kissing her shoulder before rolling over onto his side beside her on the rug. Leaning on his elbow with his head propped in his hand, he gazed at the young, dark beauty before him. In the firelight, she looked even younger somehow, and he felt a strong urge to protect her. He felt very guilty about how he’d treated her since he’d returned to England. 

She ran a hand greedily down his muscular body. There wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on him. “Jamie…?”

“Yes, dear?” 

She smiled at that. “Do you think we’ll be all right here?”

Another booming thunder clap seemed to shake the building as Jamie considered his answer. He took her small hand in his. “Yes, of course we will. It’s only rain.”

“I mean, not just that, but everything. How will we live? Where will we get money?”

Where indeed. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll take care of you.” 

As if to test that promise, a torrent of water suddenly broke through the roof and gushed onto the floor near the door. Lucy shrieked and Jamie ran, naked, to the kitchen to fetch a bucket. All he could find right away was a plastic mixing bowl. He put it under the leak and watched helplessly as it filled and then overflowed. Lucy had followed him to the cupboards, though, and was more successful in her hunt. She handed him a large pail and he swapped it for the bowl, hurrying to the sink to dump the water. 

“Get some towels!” Lucy called to him. 

He rushed to the bathroom, found two towels, and returned with them. Getting down on his knees on the hard surface, he mopped up the water. “There. All we have to do now is keep an eye on that bucket to make sure it doesn’t overflow.” He looked up to the ceiling, studying the damage. It was a small hole, but the rain would continue to come in through it unless something stopped it. He was no builder, but he had an idea that if they left the leak as it was, the whole roof might cave in eventually. He started to pull on his clothes, and she did the same. 

“What are you going to do?” Lucy cringed halfway into her shirt as more thunder rumbled nearby and a fresh bolt of lightning lit up the front windows. 

Jamie was stuffing his arms into his denim jacket. “I’ve got to get up there somehow and plug it. Did you happen to see a ladder anywhere?” 

He was joking about the ladder, and was planning to scale the short wall using the window ledge as a foothold, but Lucy replied, “Yes, I think there’s one in that outbuilding. I mean, there might be—it looks like a shed.” She pointed behind the house and to the side. “But you can’t go up there in this! You’ll fall, or get struck by lightning!”

“If I don’t, we’ll have a bigger problem to explain than just a missing kitchen chair.” 

“But what’s the point in going up there if you ha’ nothin’ to fix the hole wi’?” 

That was an excellent point. What would work, he wondered? Some kind of tarpaulin or plastic sheet? How would he attach it? While he was thinking, searching the small kitchen with his eyes, he heard the door creak open. “Lucy! Where are you going?” He followed her through the driving rain and wind to the shed. It was pitch black inside, but he found a matchbook in his pants pocket. He struck a match and together they looked. 

“There!” She pointed to the far wall, where an ancient wooden ladder rested. “And there!” A hammer and packet of nails sat on a nearby shelf. 

“Okay, that’s a start. But we need…” He turned around, searching, until the match burned down to his fingers. He lit another one, to find Lucy holding up a wide piece of canvas. “You are incredible!” he laughed, and kissed her. She gathered up the small items and he took the ladder. Together, they ran back to the front of the house. “Just set them down here and get inside!” he shouted over the storm. They were both already drenched. 

Lucy shook her head. “No, I can help you! You need someone to hold the ladder!” 

“No sense in both of us catching pneumonia—you go in and warm up by the fire!” 

But stubborn Lucy stayed put, and he knew better than to waste time arguing with her. He started up the ladder as the rain lashed him and held out his hand for the supplies. She wrapped the hammer and nails in the canvas and handed it to him in a bundle, which he tucked under one arm. The fierce Highland wind whipped Lucy’s hair in front of her face as she steadied the ladder. Luckily, as he saw when he got close, the loose slates had come off a part of the roof that was almost at the edge, so he didn’t need to climb onto the roof to repair it. He stood on the second-to-top rung and leaned over, stretching the canvas out with one hand and tearing open the now-soggy bag of nails with his teeth. Another crack of lightning struck, but he stuck to his task. He had set the hammer on the roof and was stretching for it through the dense rain when one of his feet slipped from the ladder. 

Lucy screamed.

Jamie clutched the edge of the roof and clung on, his heart racing, until his boot was planted firmly on the rung again. “I’m all right!” 

His voice was carried away on the wind but she saw that he was secure again, and sighed with relief. 

He pounded as hard as he could. Banging the nails into the slate tiles was proving difficult. Since he had practically no hair, water was pouring into his eyes. Finally, he got all four corners of the canvas nailed down tightly over the missing tiles. He scooped up the remaining nails and shoved them into his jacket pocket, leaving the disintegrated paper bag behind. With the hammer in one hand, he climbed slowly back down. 

When he was firmly on the ground, Lucy realized she’d been holding her breath and let it out in a rush. He left the ladder propped against the house, took her hand, and led her inside. The cottage felt warm and dry, despite a now-tiny drip from the leaky ceiling. Jamie quickly shed his clothes again and looked at Lucy. Her hair was plastered down flat and she was struggling with her wet shirt. He helped her off with it and spread it out on the hearth, then went into the bedroom. He came back carrying a large multi-coloured quilt. Soon, they were back where they’d started, naked and lying together in front of the fire, only this time they were huddled snugly under a warm blanket. 

Lucy shivered under the quilt. Jamie wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, trying to warm her with his body heat, but after a few minutes, her teeth were still chattering despite their closeness to the fire. He crawled out from under the blanket and tucked the edges under her. "You stay here and get warm. I'll run you a bath." She thought about protesting, telling him to stay put himself, since the gooseflesh on his skin was just as visible as it was on hers, but she was too cold to speak. Really, she enjoyed being taken care of by him. So she curled into a ball and waited, snugly, as Jamie went into the bathroom. She heard the slow squeak of the old taps, a splash of water and Jamie cursing. He walked back to the kitchen and started rummaging around in the cupboards. "What's wrong?" She asked. "No hot water. No matter--I'll warm it on the stove." He paused. "If that even works." Luckily, it did.

It seemed to take forever to fill the ancient tub even part way, having to heat huge cauldrons of water on the stove first and then dump them in. Every few minutes, he would check in with Lucy, asking her, "Are you all right? It won't be long now." Finally, she couldn't wait any longer and stood up, wrapping the quilt around herself and shuffling to the bathroom. He looked up, startled, as she approached. "It's not very full yet," he confessed, looking like he'd failed her horribly. 

"Och, it's good enough!" She unwrapped herself and stuck a foot in gingerly, waiting to be told no. Jamie had only heated the water to a warm temperature, not hot, so he didn't try to stop her. She sank into the foot of water with a loud sigh of approval, but he was not satisfied. He found a cloth, kneeled beside the bathtub, dipped the cloth into the water, and started to wash her with it, drizzling the warming drops over her chest, shoulders, and back.

Jamie continued to wash Lucy, gently running the warm, wet cloth over her whole body. She sighed with contentment as the heat from the water slowly seeped into her skin. Once in a while, his bare wet fingers slipped from the cloth and grazed her back. In the valley between her breasts, he deliberately let his fingertips trace over her skin until she thrust her chest up towards him, begging to be touched. He let the cloth fall into the water then, and, leaning toward her, kissed her lips as his hands caressed her. She paused for a moment to ask, "Why don't you get in?" Jamie surveyed the bathtub sceptically. It was a fair size, but not for two people, one of whom was six feet tall. She saw his reluctance but insisted, "Ah, c'mon, we can make it work!" So he got undressed and climbed in. Lucy sat up with her knees bent as he settled down facing her, then stretched her legs out again and rested them on top of his. His hands found the tops of her feet and stroked them as she leaned back, eyes closed.

The combination of his skin under hers, the warm water, and the inner heat that his touch and proximity were creating took all the chill out of her and she found her eyelids fluttering open, greedy for a glimpse of his naked form. The hard biceps of his long arms twitched as he rubbed her feet. A few drops of water glistened on his chest, highlighting the small patch of dark blond hair there. His nipples were as erect as her own and his cock bobbed playfully in the shallow water. She leaned forward to grasp it but he pushed her back gently and shook his head. “Let me take care of you.” 

Jamie’s face was always so serious, like he was either dejected or enraged. Now it was neither, but he wasn’t smiling either. He seemed to take the task of pleasing his lover quite seriously indeed. As he slid his hands up her calves to her milky-white thighs, his knees bent and his torso moved toward her, closing the cold gap between them. She closed her eyes again and relaxed unselfconsciously into his touch. His warm, wet fingers found her, first nudging their way inside her, then stroking her clit under the water. When her body responded instantly with a swell of excitement, she wanted him immediately. She didn’t want to deny him the pleasure of pleasuring her, though, so she said nothing and basked for a little while longer in his excruciating attentions. Then he pushed two fingers inside her and continued rubbing her with his thumb. She could stand it no longer. Sitting up abruptly, she closed a hand firmly and possessively around his erection and kissed his open lips, whispering, “I want you now.” 

He thought about lifting her up to straddle him but the tub was too small—it wouldn’t be comfortable for either of them. He also knew from experience that the water would conspire to wash away the natural lubrication they would need to make love properly. “Okay,” he said instead, and held a hand up to steady her as she rose and climbed out of the bathtub. He followed her as she wrapped a towel around herself, securing his own towel around his waist. Then he scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom, bending to lay her down on the bed slowly. “Are you going to be warm enough in here?” he asked. In reply, Lucy opened her towel and beckoned him to her. 

Neither of the youngsters wanted to waste any more time on foreplay. Lucy spread her legs and Jamie entered her, pausing then to pull the bedspread up over both of them. Under the thick blanket, their bodies pressed tightly together, they soon grew hot and threw off the covers again. Lucy rocked her hips in time with his, pressing her hands against his back. “Don’t ever leave me, Jamie.”


	7. This is the Spot

By the next morning, the storm was over and a few puddles around the croft house were the only signs of the previous night’s terror. After a scanty breakfast of porridge and apples, Lucy cheerfully suggested they go for a hike. She was feeling content, playing house in these awe-inspiring surroundings with her handsome young lover. Not being able to think of anything else to do, he agreed. He wanted some time to think about what to do next, and a walk just might help stir his brain into gear. They dressed in layers, knowing the unpredictability of the weather, and threw a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a thermos of water into Jamie’s knapsack. 

They couldn’t go anywhere where one of the locals might see them, so they headed off in the opposite direction from the village, towards a steep hill visible in the distance. After an hour of trudging quietly along, each avoiding the topic they would inevitably need to discuss, they came to the base of the little mountain. Lucy pointed to the ground and exclaimed, “Look, there! This must be the spot my great-uncle told me about!” 

Jamie gripped Lucy's hand tightly. The grass was wet in between the stones, the old foundation of a house that had stood on that spot a hundred and fifty years ago. He wondered what the people who'd lived there had been like, what their lives had been like. These were Lucy's ancestors, the proud Highlanders who had left for a better life. He wondered if they'd found it. He turned to the silent girl beside him. She was staring down at the stones, the foundations of her family history, and tears were sliding down her cheeks. She brushed them away stubbornly. Jamie couldn't remember ever feeling that intensely about his own roots. He envied her a bit, that she could care, that she could feel so much for a people she'd never met but only felt to be a part of her somehow. He wished he could feel that way about his family, but ever since his mother’s death, that part of him had been blocked off by a wall in his heart, erected subconsciously. 

Sensing the tense stiffness of his body beside her, Lucy put her arm around Jamie’s waist and drew him to her. They embraced, holding onto each other tightly, until he pulled away. He started up the craggy hill, hopping athletically over the rocks. “You can stand there and cry over an invisible house all day if you like, but I’m going up!” 

Lucy frowned. Sometimes he could be such a jerk. “It’s no the hoose ah care about! Och, never mind…” and she began to climb. 

Halfway up, Jamie removed his wool sweater, stuffed it into his bag, and rolled up the sleeves of his plaid shirt. Lucy unzipped her mac and handed it to him. They sat for a rest on a large boulder, looking out at the moor. He pulled a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches out of his bag and lit up, inhaling deeply. He didn’t offer her one because Lucy didn’t smoke. Instead, she pulled nervously at a thread hanging from the hem of her cotton shirt. “What are we going to do?” She looked up at him with dark brown saucer eyes. 

Jamie flicked some ash onto the rocks. “We can’t stay here forever.” 

She knew he meant the Highlands, not their current picturesque spot on the hill. “I know that, but…I mean, we can stay here for a while though, can’t we?” 

Heather and gorse bathed in the sudden sunlight. “The safe place,” he mumbled. 

They ate their lunch, deciding nothing, and then resumed their ascent. As morning turned to midday and the heat of the sun reached its height, Jamie took off his shirt and tied it around his waist. With the plaid trailing like a kilt behind him, heavy black leather boots poking out from under his ripped denim trousers, and his back bared to the heavens that seemed almost within reach, Jamie looked to Lucy like a rugged Highland hero. Never mind his coddled upbringing as a country gentleman or his unspeakable months fighting and killing for the Legion—two facts she could still not reconcile—to her, he was the romantic saviour. She watched a trickle of sweat run down the centre line of his back and felt the familiar urge rising again. It had been like this ever since she’d first met Jamie Douglas: he might be slouched at a bus stop waiting for a ride home, trailing his fingers moodily in the water over the side of the rowboat, or laughing too long and loud at a friend’s coarse joke, a bottle of beer in one hand and a fag in the other, it didn’t matter. No matter where or when she saw him, she always wanted him. Like she wanted him now. 

She waited until they’d reached the top and he’d thrown off his pack and sat heavily on the ground, removing his boots and wiggling his toes against the heather. Then she sat beside him and laid a hand on the inside of his thigh. 

“What, again? Here?” he laughed. 

Lucy smiled. She hadn’t heard him laugh in a long time, not really. He was so always so sad, but right now Jamie looked happy. He took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. Then he broke away, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. 

“What?”

“Well,” he grinned, “since we’re the big nature-lovers now, all earthy and whatnot, maybe we should take a cue from the animals.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Nothing we haven’t done before!” He reached for her zipper and started to undress her, receiving no resistance from Lucy. The wind was getting up again but they were still warm from the hike. The cool air felt good on their naked skin. They stood and laughed at themselves, nude as the days they were born, looking around the hilltop for a not-so-rocky spot upon which to make like the animals. 

“Over here,” Lucy called, pointing to a mossy nook between two boulders. 

Jamie followed her, swept a few stones from the ground, and nodded. “I’m going to take you here, on this mountaintop, like a savage.” 

“You beast!” She giggled and kneeled on the ground. 

He kneeled behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and pressed his body close against hers. His lips trailed from her ear lobe down her neck and to her back, causing her to shiver. 

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine.” She wanted to turn around, to kiss him, but there would be plenty of time for that later. And when he touched her pussy and she felt his erection press against her, all she wanted was for him to be inside her again. He took his time, driving her crazy with little love-bites on her shoulder, pushing his hard cock against her back. She dropped her hands down in front of her on the moss, hoping to speed up the process, but his gentle kisses and light caresses persisted until she nearly went mad with desire. “Come ON, Jamie, DO it!” she cried, not caring if she could be heard all the way across the water on Skye. Finally, he pushed into her, fucking her hard and fast because he knew that was how she wanted it. With one hand on her hip, he rubbed her clit with the other. Lucy was completely unashamed. Her body didn’t need to be perfect. She didn’t need to move with a ballet dancer’s grace. Her answering backward thrusts urged him deeper. Her legs quivered and her hair fell in front of her eyes. She moaned aloud, giving in to every sensation: the cool, spongey greenness under her fingers, the reassuring clasp of his warm hand on her skin, the growing tingle of pleasure between her legs as his fingertips touched her, and the satisfying heat of him inside her, her body gripping him tighter and tighter as her muscles contracted around him. She heard his own instinctive grunts as he gave himself to her, emptying his seed into her as the wind blew across his back and finally folding over to embrace her and to shield her body from the cold, his lips finding her again. 

“Shit!” 

She was still facing away from him so she couldn’t see what he was looking at. “I told you, it’s okay—I don’t mind if--”

Suddenly Jamie was up and pulling on his pants. “No, someone’s coming!”


End file.
